Dreamland III
by raisingirl02
Summary: Mulder and Scully struggle to explain what happened to Mulder's apartment, and explain some... interesting... flashbacks.


Title: "Dreamland III" (1/1)   
Author: Melissa Lee   
Spoilers: Dreamland I, Dreamland II, Small Potatoes, and the X-Files Movie,   
War of the Coprophages, and The End   
Disclaimer: You can't blame a girl for wondering what ever happened, but   
that's good, right? Mulder, Scully, and the 'shipper-dubbed "Ms.   
Lunchbreak" belong to Chris Carter, 20th Century FOX Entertainment,   
and 1013 productions... da da da, dee dee dee...   
Author's Note: Thanks goes to Danielle for the urging to write another post-   
ep fic, as well as her emotional (no, I don't have mental problems, I'm just   
sensitive *snicker* :) help during the writing of this.   
Summary: Mulder and Scully struggle to figure out what happened to Mulder's   
apartment, as well as explain some... interesting... flashbacks. Prequel to   
"Dreamland IV."   


X-x-X-x-X   
Mulder's Apartment   
11:04 p.m.

"What the hell?!" Fox Mulder stood aghast in his doorway. At least, he   
thought it was his. He whirled around to face the door again. The number   
was the same as it had been five minutes ago. 42. As always.   
He took a cautious step into the undiscovered territory. As soon as his   
foot made contact with the ratty, usually-dirty-but-for-some-odd-reason-   
cleaned carpet, a voice rang through his head: "I decided it was time I   
stopped living like a fratboy."   
He blinked twice rapidly, wondering where _that_ had come from. He   
dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the main hallway, trying to come up   
with a reason why the Syndicate would dig all of this stuff out of his...   
_Uh oh,_ thought Mulder, gulping.   
His bedroom.   
He slowly made his way to the long-forgetten room he had always used   
for a closet. He creaked the door open, stepping inside.   
"This guy hasn't been laid in ten years," rang the voice again.   
_Have too!_ Mulder's conscious retorted, already counting on his fingers.   
_...Last time must've been... uh... Kristen Kilar... uh, does that count?_>   
That was it. Mentally slapping himself for actually _thinking_ that, he ran   
to the phone he spotted beside the canopy waterbed, trying not to notice   
the bed itself. He quickly punched the familiar number, racking his brain to   
remember if he had consumed any alcoholic beverages in the last twenty-   
four hours. He was sure he hadn't, Scully would've simply given him The   
Look and he would back off. Hell, he knew better than to go against The   
Look. He smiled as the phone rang, picturing Scully give him The Look.   
His pleasant reverie was shattered by a nasal voice on the other line.   
"Langly," said Mulder, trying to contain his impending anger. "Turn off the   
damn tape."   
"Mulder!" screeched the Lone Gunman, surprisingly excited. "You're back!"   
"Huh? How'd you know I went to Nevada?" asked Mulder, forgetting what   
he was going to yell at him about.   
"Of course, Mulder, Morris Fletcher only came here from Area 51 in your   
body," Langly snickered.   
"What the hell are you talking about?"   
"You mean you don't remember?"   
"Remember what??" Mulder practically screamed, exasperated.   
"Mulder," came Byers' calm voice. "You came here with Scully, but it   
wasn't you. I mean, it looked like you and sounded like you, but it was   
Morris Fletcher's mind."   
Mulder's jaw dropped. He would've remembered switching bodies. Of course!   
"With Scully?" he said numbly.   
"Yeah. We can show you the video, Mulder, if you don't believe it."   
Silence.   
"Look, why don't you call Scully. You'll probably believe her more than us."   
"Okay," said Mulder quietly.   
"Mulder," Frohike's deep voice took over. "Maybe you should get some rest   
and--"   
Click.   
"Thanks for the help, guys," Mulder said agitatedly to the phone, now   
hung up.   
Confused and almost dizzy, Mulder collapsed onto the waterbed,   
immediately frowning at it's very prescense. Staring resentfully up at the   
mirror in the canopy of the waterbed. When he looked up at it, it wasn't   
only him on it. Scully was laying there beside him, the two of them gazing   
peacefully up at the mirror, floating gently on the bed. It looked so perfect   
to him that Mulder didn't even notice how unreal it was. Until it caught up   
with him.   
He blinked. Hard. Looking down at himself and remembering what he had   
seen in the mirror, the Mulder in the mirror was wearing different clothes   
from the Mulder laying in the bed.   
Mulder sighed, pushing his head back into the bed as if in resignation. He   
paid for it when the slight movement sent him jiggling like jello in a plate held   
by a four year-old. He rolled his eyes, then letting his eyelids drift close.   
As soon as the afterimages finished swirling, a new picture took place. It   
was Scully, sitting leisurely on his bed. A seductive smile played on her full   
lips as she dangled a pair of handcuffs in the air.   
Mulder's eyes flew open. And he flew off the bed. After pacing around the   
room about a dozen times, trying to make sense of this new image, a familiar   
voice sounded out through his head: "'Baby' me and you'll be peeing through   
a catheter." It was Scully. Again.   
_Ooh, this is too much._ He needed something familiar, he needed something   
soothing. He needed his couch.   
He fled to his living room in a mad dash for his black leather sofa. When   
he found it, where his desk should've been, he sprawled out on it, trying to   
get a handle on the moment.   
What was this? Missing time? If so, where did the whole Morris Fletcher   
thing come in?   
He sat back up, running a hand nervously through his hair. Elbows on his   
knees, he clasped his hands and began to breakdown the situation.   
First of all: If he and this Morris Fletcher _had_ switched bodies somehow,   
what had he been doing with Scully??   
_ No, Mulder,_ he thought, wincing. _We'll save that for last._ He still couldn't   
remember anything. If this was a case of missing time, wouldn't that mean   
that Scully could remember what had happened? If so, why hadn't she said   
anything?   
But there were too many if's.   
He sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Why did it feel like he had   
done that recently? He only did that when something seriously upset him and   
there was nothing he could do about it...   
_That makes sense!_   
He pulled out his cell phone, jabbing the speed-dial button nearest the left.   
A number popped out on the digital display. 555-0113. The line rang a couple   
times before a deep voice came on.   
"Scully."   
"Hey, Scully, it's me. I've got something to ask you," Mulder said quickly.   
In her car on the way home, Scully's eyebrows shot up in question. "Uh,   
yeah, Mulder?"   
"Look, some really weird stuff has been happening to me, and I was won-   
dering if you had experienced anything... you know... weird?"   
Scully frowned, trying to remember anything... weird. "Nothing extremely   
out of the ordinary." She paused, almost hearing his hopefulness. "Well, if it   
makes a difference, I found a penny fused with a dime in my desk drawer. I   
can't remember where it came from. But, um, that's it."   
"You sure?"   
"Yeah." Scully listened hard, she could hear Mulder running a hand over his   
face. She could almost picture him, with that dark, brooding expression and   
seemingly inevitable despondency. "Mulder, what's been going on over there?"   
"Hmph, maybe you should come take a look for yourself."   
She sighed into the phone, watching the Arlington exit flash by her in   
an instant.   
"Come on, Scully, this is really freaking me out and I need a second opinion.   
As always."   
Scully's expression fell, just hearing the tone he was using. _He's going for_   
_innocence, Scully,_ she thought. _There's no reason why you can't go take a_   
_look. At Mulder, too._ She shook her head, that wasn't what she should be   
thinking right now.   
"Okay, Mulder, I'll be there soon. But I hope you're not calling me over   
because you found your bedroom." She had said that jokingly, to light the   
conversation, but she thought she heard Mulder gulp.   
"Bye." The click designated the end of the conversation, and Scully quickly   
pressed END and tossed her cell phone haphazardly in her purse in the   
passenger seat.   
She sighed heavily, afraid of what had happened to Mulder. Not only for   
his well being, but because things had been happening to her as well. From   
the moment she arrived back in DC, she had been hearing things, seeing   
things, that didn't make any sense to her. The moment she had handled the   
fused penny and dime back at the office, she saw what appeared to be a   
gas station, or the remains of it. It had been blown to nothing, leaving only   
scraps of metal and a weak foundation.   
She had dismissed it easily, blaming the day's exhaustions to the un-   
explainable vision -- if it deserved such a name.   
But it didn't stop there. Once inside her car, she heard voices. One familiar,   
the other foreign. "And?" she heard herself say. "And..." a familiar but some-   
what arrogant voice said. "If I try to slip out the back door... da da da, dee   
dee dee..." Then a vision to match the dialogue. It was her, in the driver's   
seat of her car, with Mulder in the passenger's seat, gesturing to his head   
with shooter-fingers.   
It hadn't made any sense to her, and it still didn't. Was this happening   
to Mulder too? _Maybe I should call him,_ she had thought, quickly dismissing   
the thought. He'd end up giving her the "open your mind to extreme pos-   
sibilities speech," #10 on the list of Mulder speeches. That's not what she   
wanted at the moment, questioning her open-ness had always been hard,   
and she knew Mulder wanted to know. And that would lead to her trust in   
him, and his in her. And that was getting a bit too close to the edge, as far   
as she was concerned.   
Upon revitalizing this train of thought, she countered herself. Too close   
to what edge? Their trust in one another? _No,_ she thought. _That wasn't it_.   
They didn't need to question their trust in one another. Before they had   
thought they did, but they were over that. True partnership through un-   
questioned trust.   
Then what edge would they get close too? That was always left uncon-   
versed, but they both knew the answer, and feared it.   
To Scully's relief, the car arrived to Mulder's apartment complex before   
she had to answer that question. She reluctantly climbed out, not bothering   
to bring her overcoat or purse.   
She tiredly jabbed at the elevator button, wondering why she had agreed   
to come in the first place. Walking down the hallway, she involuntarily ran   
two fingers through the fine auburn hair over her cheek, then running a hand   
over her slightly rumpled skirt. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the   
door, preparing herself for anything her partner was going to throw at her.   
When no one answered, she cautiously slipped her hand around the door-   
knob, easing the door open quietly. She stuck her head into the room, and   
nearly fainted in doing so.   
Someone had completely rearranged Mulder's entire apartment. She   
seriously doubted it had been Mulder, considering how all the colors matched   
and how a lemony-fresh scent had attacked her. She smiled in spite of herself,   
trying to picture color-blind Mulder arrange all the furniture with a perfect   
focal point and balance.   
"Mulder?" No answer.   
She scanned the room frantically, but the unfamiliar surroundings made it   
hard for her to find her way around. She walked into the main room, and there   
he was. Sleeping on his beloved couch.   
She quietly stepped across the floorboards to the sofa, which she noticed   
was where his desk should've been. "Mulder," she whispered, he didn't even   
stir. She pulled up a chair next to the couch, and rested her feet, wondering   
what to do next. She certainly didn't want to wake him, she knew how   
precious sleep was for him.   
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands.   
She stalled waking him up, and just watched him, his even breathing, his eye-   
lids flutter as he explored dreamland. He lay on his back, one of his lean legs   
propped up against the back of the couch. His right arm was draped over his   
face, his hand dangling over the armrest; the other lay on his lower torso.   
Readjusting his limbs, Mulder moaned quietly in his sleep, turning his face   
towards her, as if in search for comfort. She ran a gentle hand through his   
short brown hair, then around the side of his chipped face. "Mulder," she   
repeated, a bit louder this time.   
He groaned again, turning over. He opened his sharp hazel eyes, focusing   
on Scully's face. "Hey," he said groggily, smiling at her. He stretched a while   
longer, and then sat up on the sofa.   
"I don't remember last time I saw you sleeping so peacefully, Mulder," said   
Scully, leaning towards him from the chair. She matched his smile, saying, "I   
guess you have a lot on your mind, huh?" She motioned around the room with   
a nod of her head.   
"I don't remember taking interior design in college," Mulder said, wearily   
surveiling the room again.   
"Did you call your friends? I wouldn't be surprised if decided today would   
be the new April Fools day," said Scully, refering to none other but the Lone   
Gunmen.   
"Hmph, they were the first on the list. They told me some pretty weird   
stuff about switching bodies, but I don't remember it. If they're joking,   
they're really gonna get it."   
"Switching bodies?" asked Scully skeptically.   
Mulder shrugged, signaling that he didn't know anymore about it than she   
did. "Oh," he said after a long silence. "You won't believe what I found." He   
jumped up, pulling his partner up by the hand, leading her into another room.   
"Mulder, I didn't even know you had a bedroom," Scully said in shock as   
she entered the room, then experiencing deja vù for a fleeting moment.   
"That's what's weird, neither did I!" exclaimed Mulder.   
After a couple moments of looking around the room that she had never   
seen or knew existed, Scully's eyes rested on the bed. "Mulder," she said,   
her voice at the breaking point. "Is that a waterbed??" A tiny smirk played   
at the corners of her mouth.   
He sighed in resignation. "Yes, Scully, it's a waterbed."   
"Somebody bought you a waterbed?"   
"No... no, not necessarily."   
"Is it yours?"   
"I bought it a very, very, very long time ago, Scully."   
"But it still belongs to you?"   
"Yes, Scully, it's a waterbed that belongs to me that I bought a very,   
very, very long time ago." Mulder couldn't believe Scully was laughing at   
him, she just didn't _do_ that. He surreptitiously averted his eyes, scuffing   
his shoe on the carpet.   
"Mulder, we have to find out who did this."   
"I couldn't agree more."   
Much to his surprise, Scully wandered over to the canopy bed and seated   
herself on the edge. "Mulder," she stated after a few tense moments. "How   
could you sleep on this? It's like jello."   
He sat next to her on the bed, saying, "That's why I don't use it. I   
should've sold it."   
"It's not that bad, Mulder," Scully said supportively. "I just can't believe   
you complain about insomnia when you have a bed."   
"My couch is a lot more comfortable than this."   
"Okay, is this the only 'weird thing' that happened?"   
"Only? Scully, somebody rearranged my whole apartment. I'm going to   
have to put all this stuff back, not to mention putting it back in place."   
"Mulder, obviously somebody is playing a bad joke. My next guess would   
be that the Syndicate has something to do with it... and whoever carried   
out their plans is a crackhead who watches too much Star Trek."   
He glanced over at her, smiling at her way of lightening the situation.   
The fleeting moment fled, and he soon remembered his incentive. "That's   
not it though..."   
Her smile faded and her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"   
_You have to tell her, Mulder,_ he thought. _You have *got* to find out_   
_what happened here._ In a few tense moments, he went over the many   
ways he could present the issue to her. Finally, he said, "Have I had any   
alcohol lately, Scully?"   
With a semi-laugh and look of confusion, she answered, "What? No,   
Mulder, not as far as I know. Why?"   
"I... I feel sick," he said, quickly rewriting his script. He lay back in the   
bed, covering his face with his hands. _Why was this so hard!? _he thought   
angrily, wishing he could just tell her what had happened and not care   
about the consequence. If only it were that easy. If only.   
"Mulder?" said Scully, plainly concerned. She moved over him, gently   
pulling his hands away from his face and placing a small hand on his fore-   
head. "You feel ill? You don't seem to have a fever. What's wrong?"   
He closed his eyes and tried to tune out. "I'm so confused..." he   
muttered through closed lids.   
Scully rolled her eyes and allowed a tiny smile to creep onto her face,   
laying her left hand on Mulder's upper leg in relief. "Mulder," she said   
quietly, leaning toward his face. "What are you so confused about that it   
makes you feel sick? I remember lots of times when you were so confused   
you couldn't see straight, and you didn't seem sick then. What's wrong?"   
He popped up suddenly, propping himself up on his elbows, narrowly   
missing head-butting Scully. He took a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying   
to ignore the burning sensation caused by the tiny hand laying so non-   
chalantly on his upper thigh. "I..." he began slowy, "... I believe something   
may have happened to us in Nevada, when we ran into that roadblock."   
_Oh God,_ thought Scully frantically, _it's been happening to him,_   
_too! _"What makes you say that, Mulder?" she asked, playing innocent.   
He looked intently into her eyes, taking in the gravely pale face and   
her misty sapphire eyes. Scully gulped at his stare, _He knows...! _ran   
through her head, although she tried not to think about it in fear that he   
would read her thoughts. "Since we got back from Nevada, I've been...   
experiencing memories -- visions and sounds -- that I can't even remember   
having." He paused, studying her reaction. "Sights and sounds that I can't   
explain. And when I talked to Frohike, saying that I had switched bodies   
with a man named Morris Fletcher, who they claim works in Area 51."   
He tried to gulp inconspicuously, but couldn't help the sinking feeling he   
had in his gut. His partner had barely opened her mouth in protest when   
he quickly interrupted her. "I know, Scully, there's no way I can find any-   
thing they say _remotely_ plausible, but they were absolutely positive that   
this had happened. And somehow, the fact that neither of us remem--"   
"Wait, Mulder," Scully drew her legs underneath her, facing him squarely,   
"how do you know that I'm involved? As far as I'm concerned, I came home   
safe and sound without anything mildly out of the ordinary happening." She   
paused. "Well, except for those two coins..."   
"That's it!" Eureka-ed Mulder, jumping out of his position to sit indian-style   
across from Scully. "Maybe there was a wave... Hell, a, a ripple in the time   
space continuum, causing me to switch bodies with this Fletcher and--"   
"The coins, Mulder?"   
"And the two coins somehow ended up existing in the same place at the   
same time after this... this ripple in time," Mulder's eyes grew wide for a   
moment, considering what he had just said, "wow..."   
"Mulder, when was the last time you saw _Back to the Future_?"   
"No, Scully," he insisted, "it makes sense--"   
"Then why can't you remember what happened? Why can't _I_ remember?   
Mulder, this is absurd!" She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation.   
"Mulder, why can't you, for once, accept that this time common human   
nature is to blame? It was a bad joke! That's it!"   
He placed a tentative hand on her knee, gazing deep into her flaming   
eyes. "I did remember, Scully, I do. Not the whole thing, but enough that I   
can get a rough idea of what happened."   
"Then why don't _I_ remember?" inquired Scully.   
"Technically, Scully, you should. Just by coming into contact with...   
this," he slammed a fist on the waterbed for effect, "should jog something."   
"What? What do you mean by that, Mulder?" _Oops,_ he thought, gulping   
at the consequence he'd have to face, _that wasn't supposed to come out_   
_yet!_   
"One of the images I saw... it had you in it. Sitting on the bed just as   
you are now," explained Mulder, his eyes alight with green and gold rays.   
She stared at him for a moment, trying to think of how to respond. "I...   
Mulder, don't you find it a bit more mundane that maybe you weren't   
necessarily seeing the past, but the future?"   
"Wow, you _will_ say anything to prove me wrong," said Mulder in feigned   
amazement.   
Scully sighed loudly, asking, "Is that it, Mulder? That hardly means any-   
thing. Mulder..." She paused, watching his expression melt into disappoint-   
ment. "Mulder, knowing you, you could've come up with anything. I think   
you just need some sleep. It's been a long day." With that, she placed a   
hand on his left upper arm, the feeling of deja vù once again present. She   
got off the bed, heading for the door.   
"So, what kinds of games do you play with handcuffs?"   
That stopped her dead in her tracks. She slowly turned around, her ex-   
pression a mixture between utter confusion, natural embarrassment, and   
complete disbelief. "What??" she asked loudly, almost stating more than   
inquiring. Retaining the last strains of dignity she had left, she crossed the   
room back to him, arms crossed.   
_I *knew* she remembered,_ he thought, despite the nervousness of the   
situation. He gulped, again, trying to prepare himself to address the thing   
that had nagged him for so long.   
Though he was greatly tempted to say, "Got you attention, didn't I?" the   
sage in him said, "I said, what kinds of games do you play with handcuffs?"   
She blinked a couple times with a more clear disbelief than before. She   
quickly recovered, saying, "Does this have anything to do with your switching   
bodies?"   
Clearly detecting her own fear under the forced skepticism, he answered,   
"I have reason to believe that the person I was switched with may have   
been responsible for my current, uh, predicament." He sat at the edge of the   
bed now, feet flat on the floor. She stood a few feet away, reflecting the   
"Believe me, _please!_" gaze he was radiating at her.   
"So," she began icily, "you're saying this guy, Morris Fletcher, that you   
'switched bodies' with came here, rearranged your whole apartment, and   
even dug out your waterbed, and in hopes of what?" Though she was clearly   
inquiring him, she knew that he knew that she knew what the answer was.   
"He must have been a fan of the late Eddie Van Blundht."   
She stared at him, showing no amusement whatsoever. "Is that all you   
have to say?" she demanded.   
"Well... I'm glad that you figured out that he wasn't who he looked like."   
When he registered her blank stare, he added, "''Baby' me and you'll be   
peeing through a catheter'?"   
"Ah," she said quietly, without thinking. When she realized what she had   
let on, she knew that he knew.   
"You remember, don't you?" he asked, just as quietly, standing up in front   
of her.   
"Not that much," she admitted with a sigh of resignation. "I didn't know   
what to make of it." She looked up at him, surprised at how close his face   
was to hers. Gazing at him with soft, clear cerulean eyes, she saw how un-   
satisfied he was, and continued. "I saw me, and you, in my car in the   
parking lot of some little motel, discussing some kind of plan, and if you, or   
him, whoever, tried to get away, I would shoot him, or you, you know." She   
paused again, looking past his searching eyes for the images she had so   
hard tried to bury. "I'm just happy that things are back to normal, and some-   
what explained, however it happened."   
"You believe it really happened?" He looked genuinely surprised.   
"I don't see any other explanation."   
"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Dana Scully," quipped   
Mulder, jutting his chin at her sideways with a mischevious grin.   
She smiled at him, but it soon faded, as she asked herself that very   
question.   
"What's wrong?" He had that look on his face again, and she could almost   
see the clouds brewing in his eyes.   
"Hmm? Oh, nothing, I just surprised myself, I guess."   
"Is that all you remembered?"   
"Uh, yeah. I mean, since now."   
"You look indecisive."   
"Do I?"   
He leaned toward her a little bit, trying to be level with her face. At first   
she looked startled, but didn't move away. "Do I?" she asked again, tossing   
her fiery red hair and lifting her face to him.   
A tiny smirk hinted its way onto his face, and he looked down at her   
lovingly. "Not any more," he said matter-of-factly. After a few tense moments,   
he almost relived the void of time it had taken for him to make his move in the   
hallway of his apartment before the events in Antarctica.   
She saw the flashback in his eyes, and frowning at how it had turned out.   
She looked down suddenly, and rubbed the back of her neck surreptitiously,   
moving away.   
Being shocked out of his reverie, Mulder stepping infront of her with a   
quiet, "Wait," that seemed to be forced out through the tension.   
"What?" she asked, as he pulled her closer to him by the shoulders.   
She showed no sign of resistance, and this delighted him to the utmost.   
"I can't... I just--" he began, trying to force out what he had been trying to   
tell her for the longest time. _I can't stand here so close to you but have you_   
_so far away._ As the perfect words ran through his head five billion times, he   
gazed at her, unseeing. Her eyes softened, as if reading the thoughts as the   
sped across his mind.   
_Neither can I,_ her eyes read.   
Still in his gentle, yet firm, grasp, she stood up on tiptoe as he dipped   
his head toward her face, the inexplicable flame of desire soon to be ravished...   
A shrill cry arose in the room. Surprised, he released her, pushing back and   
whirling around to see where the sound had come from. Another cry. It was   
the phone.   
Mulder rolled his eyes angrily and ran to the phone. As he answered it,   
Scully turned her back to him, running a hand through her hair and letting out   
a quiet raspberry.   
"Frohike??" Mulder questioned in a low, threatening voice.   
The giddy voice on the other line didn't seem to catch the tone. It con-   
tinued, babbling about Morris Fletcher and Saddaam Hussien. "Oh, and I met   
this really hot chic named Bambi, I think you'll like her..." he went on.   
"Mulder?" said Scully, at the doorway to the bedroom. "I'm gonna go, I've   
got things to do." Despite Mulder's pleas, she left, quietly closing the door   
behind her.   
Once outside, she fell against the wall, exhaling loudly and letting her face   
fall into an obvious expression of disappointment.   
Back inside the bedroom, Mulder sank to a sitting position against the wall.   
Knocking his head against it, he exhaled loudly and let his face fall into the   
obvious expression of disappointment.

X-x-X   
FBI Headquarters   
The next day   
10:13 a.m.

Dana Scully walked slowly to her's in the sea of desks. She pinched the   
bridge of her nose with a weary hand, still shaken from the previous night's   
turn of events. And maybe shaken was an understatement.   
She placed her breifcase on the desk, turning on the lamp and drawing   
the fused coins from its resting spot on her in-box. She opened a drawer   
and threw it in, not caring where it came from anymore.   
Tiredly, she plopped in the squeaking chair, watching other agents bustle   
in and out of the office, as if they were in some kind of hurry. She wasn't   
in a hurry. For a slow moment in time, she felt as if she didn't have anything   
to do here. She didn't want this. If she had known that her job was going   
to lead to this, she would've become a doctor.   
She sighed in exasperation. No, she didn't want _this._ Sitting at a desk   
doing _background checks._ She wanted to be back in the basement. Back   
downstairs where cabinents of X-Files ... and Mulder ... awaited her, with   
her name all over them. Well, except for Mulder maybe.   
That very thought made her fly out of her chair, lacing quickly through   
the rows of identical desks. She headed for the restroom, where she could   
think in silence.   
Once inside, she rubbed some cold water over her face, finally admitting   
to herself that everything she needed to live was in that damn basement.   
Of course, not the current basement. Not the one with Special Agent   
Weenie Boy and Agent Fowley in it. Not the one missing the "I Want To   
Believe" poster, the stacks of unorganized-yet-somehow-easy-to-find   
folders over everything paranormal, the bits of sunflower seeds that   
tracked to wherever Mulder had been last, the three square feet devoted   
to Duane Barry and Scully's abduction, the photos of them on cases... It   
was all gone, all in a puff of smoke. She knew who was behind that, where   
there was fire, there was smoke, and where there was smoke... well,   
there was a cigarrette. She scowled in disgust, bracing herself against the   
counter.   
She tilted her head up at the long mirror, seeing the many experiences   
she had had in and out of that basement fly before her eyes in a matter   
of seconds. Watching herself for a while in the reflective glass, she won-   
dered if this was the same person who had walked into the basement six   
years ago. It was decidedly not. Six years ago, she hadn't seen all the   
things that were "scientifically impossible." Six years ago, Missy had been   
alive. Six years ago, Emily wouldn't have been. Six years ago, she wouldn't   
have known Fox Mulder.   
She rolled her eyes at herself; how could she let herself keep thinking   
that? Inevitably remembering last night's events, she couldn't help but   
think how much she had wanted it to happen, and how disappointed he   
had looked. And scared. Something _once again_ had come between them,   
stopping them from... making a terrible mistake? It could never be, she   
insisted to herself. If anybody would have found out, they would _never_   
have a chance to regain the X-Files. But maybe, just maybe she wanted   
this more. Shaking her head, she knew that Samantha and the Truth were   
more important to him. Hell, they had to be! She was just his partner in   
crime. Partner. Was that really all she was to him? It couldn't be like that,   
she had seen such hope in his eyes. She had seen through to his soul   
through those eyes. There was no doubting it, she decided, he had   
wanted it just as much as she.   
Pulling away from the counter with a sudden renewed strength, she   
turned promptly on her heel, satisfied with herself.   
She couldn't be satisfied for long, for she smacked right into Miss   
Lunchbreak herself. Falling back, she couldn't believe her luck. The image   
of Assistant Director Kersh's secretary sauntering out of Mulder's apart-   
ment cattily wiping smeared traces of lipstick was enough for her to pull   
out her Sig Sauer upon sight.   
With an unfazed expression, Scully quickly regained her balance, like   
any trained professional. The bleached-blonde secretary, on the other   
hand, was having troubles with her stilettos. Watching her stumble to   
get up and gather her papers, she just stood back, offering no help.   
"Agent Scully??" Miss Lunchbreak was answered with a questioning gaze   
as she colored more than slightly. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you, I just   
had... had to go really b-bad."   
Wordlessly, Scully stepped aside, holding an arm out, gesturing to the   
stalls. The woman looked at her in confusion, then ran a nervous hand   
through her unruly hair, saying, "Agent Scully, I-I hope that you won't   
mention anything that you might have seen, or heard, to Assistant Director   
Kersh. B-because I would lose my job, and I have to take care of my   
mother, and that's the last thing I would want."   
"Well," said Scully, enjoying the sense of power she had over the other   
woman, "not only would you lose your job, but Agent Mulder would lose his   
job, and once both of you are out of the Bureau, you know how rumors fly,   
don't you?" She stared her down, well aware of the many rumors she had   
heard from that very woman about herself, Mulder, and their work.   
For a moment Miss Lunchbreak seemed to cringe at the words, then   
retaliated. "You don't know anything," she spat, "I could have you fired   
just for harrassing me like this. For all you know, I could have a tape re-   
corder on me, recording every word you're saying!" She jutted her chin   
out at an unimpressed Scully.   
"Where?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "In your bra?" She paused,   
watching the woman's face hit the brick wall. "Besides, I believe it would   
be a lot smarter for you to wait until I confess to something before you   
tell me that you're bugged. But then, who knows where _you're_ bugged."   
"I bet you know all about that," said the blonde, "being watched, I've   
heard about how paranoid you two are. Chasing little green men around   
the country." She snorted, then seemed to re-think her words. "Well,   
Agent Mulder isn't _that_ bad, I just feel sorry that he's stuck with the   
Ice Queen."   
Blue flames rose behind Scully's eyes, yet she kept her composure   
magnificantly. Without another word, she strode out to the restroom door.   
Upon reaching it, she turned to Miss Lunchbreak, saying in a deep voice,   
"Little _gray_ men, and you see that?" She pointed to a black semi-sphere   
attached to the ceiling. "They're watching you." With a devilish grin, she   
pushed the door open and left, allowing herself a satisfied smile once out   
of sight of anybody.   
She pulled out her cell phone and pushed the first memory button. After   
a few rings, the soothing voice answered, "Mulder."   
"Mulder, it's me."   
"Yeah, Scully?"   
"You at home?"   
"Uh-huh."   
"Can I come over? There's something we should discuss."   
"Is this about my switching bodies thing?"   
"Mmm, perhaps."   
"Scully?"   
"Yeah?"   
"What are you wearing?"


End file.
